


Science and Love (And Other Incompatible Things)

by LucidMagic



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Based on Various Sources for Krypton and Their Culture, Constructive Criticism Welcome, F/F, I Haven't Written in 87 Years, Jeremiah is Alive for Reasons, Kara Becomes a Scientist Not a Reporter, Kara is Her Usual Puppy Self, Lena is a Precious Baby and Should be Protected at All Costs, More characters to be added, Not Beta Read, Really There Needs to be a Guide, Scientist!Kara, So Does Lena Luthor, SuperCorp, Supergirl Owns My Ass, first fic in this fandom, karlena
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 14:58:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8757124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucidMagic/pseuds/LucidMagic
Summary: The house of Ze is known for their warriors. The house of El for their scientists. So, Kara, with the immediate blood of both, is equally inclined to choose either of the two. One to protect and serve. The other to analyze and create. In another life, she might have been a warrior, renowned and noble, shielding those from harm. She may have brought peace to a city at some point.(In another time, she could have been a hero.)Or,An AU where Kara is a scientist and Lena can't understand the strange engineer in Lab 9.





	1. Humanity Is Weird

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, this is a catharsis for the mid-season hiatus and the Mon-Ew storyline. Not Beta'd, so mistakes can be fixed by you in the comments. 
> 
> This first chapter is wholly based on Kara, the next will be Lena.

The house of Ze is known for their warriors. The house of El for their scientists.

So, Kara, with the immediate blood of both, is equally inclined to choose either of the two. One to protect and serve. The other to analyze and create.

In another life, she might have been a warrior, renowned and noble, shielding those from harm. She may have brought peace to a city at some point.

(In another time, she could have been a hero.)

* * *

 

Kara’s twelve and prepping for her guildship. She’s smart even by Kryptonian standards and many believe her to be placed in the Science Guild. The Matrix supervisors have deemed this likely, citing her foreordained genes, yet they also warn that she may be chosen a warrior, again referring to her DNA.

(Her Aunt Astra is practically vibrating from this announcement. Her twin and Kara’s mother, though a judge—from the lower Magistrate Guild of her mother’s lineage—may not visually show it, but she is anticipating winning the long-running bet. Zor-El scoffs fondly.)

Kara doesn’t really have a preference—she just wants to serve her planet the best she can.

(A trait Aunt Astra likes to claim points to her warrior-spirit.)

* * *

 

It’s five months shy of her thirteenth birthday when her father comes home one night somber and ashen.

For months afterward, Uncle Jor-El visits more often, a similar expression on his face when he leaves her father’s study. Shaken. Despaired. Wholly pallid like he just overcame Argo fever.

(Which is absurd because Uncle Jor-El has been vaccinated.)

* * *

 

Krypton is dying. Kara is thirteen and her home is decaying and her baby cousin is hers to shelter.

“He’s now Krypton, Kara. He is the future of our world.” Her father says as they race to the spaceships.

(Spaceships have been outlawed for private use for centuries, only for council sanctioned ventures of diplomacy or leisure. Now, Kara understands why her father and uncle have been so busy as of late.)

Her world is crumbling around her, her culture, her life. Withering like a dwarf star, collapsing on itself. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Kara thinks that analogy is fitting; the only reason for Krypton’s demise is the people it bore.

“He has a choice. Unlike the rest of us—not born of the Matrix.” Her father continues to tug her along, little hand aching from the strain of his giant palm. In the distance, she can see buildings plummet on top of others as shocks rocked the ground beneath. Her footing almost slips, but her father’s grip keeps her upright. Her mother on the other side is whispering a long unanswered prayer to Rao.

(Kara can’t help but think that job is for the Religious Guild—

the Religious Guild that was in one of those tumbling buildings.) 

* * *

 

When she awakes, she is greeted by a stranger.

A stranger that bares her House symbol on his chest, bright, kind eyes like his mother’s, the stern jaw of his father.

But not the tongue of Krypton. His words are slow and calculated, choppy and not with the right inflection. It’s harsh and unwelcoming and all Kara wants to do is _scream_.

Yet she can’t because she’s too busy sobbing.

* * *

 

It’s upon later why this stranger—no, Kal-El—no, _Clark_ —is so familiar.

He’s her cousin. Her grown, independent cousin, that doesn’t need Kara. He’s twenty-four and had already been taught the ways of the world—not _her_ world, _this_ world.

 _Earth_. That’s what Clark’s Kal-Ex calls it, in strikingly more fluent Kryptonese. With the android’s help and her cousin’s aid and a spared week, Kara can passingly speak with her (remaining) family and understand what happened.

Twenty-four years drifting in the Phantom Zone, time stagnant inside while the rest of the universe continues to age.

(Time may have been still, but certainly not her dreams—dark smiles and choked goodbyes, a trembling planet and tear-stain cheeks, crying hearts and an exploding home.)

* * *

 

Clark leaves ( _abandons_ ) her on the doorstep of a family, too young and inexperienced to raise a child.

Kara hides behind him as he speaks softly to them.

(She can _hear_ their heartbeats thumping in their chests, fast and erratic. She can _smell_ their apprehension and anticipation wafting from their bodies. She can _see_ that the male has a bad knee, where he has metal screwed into the bone. She can _see_ that the older female has a stress fracture along her right wrist. She can _hear_ the younger female’s teeth grind against one another.)

 Kara clutches at her cousin’s cape.

(It’s Kryptonian. Not like Earth’s textile; it’s smoother, the grain less course, more refined. She rubs it between her fingertips like she does— _did_ —to her father’s formal cloak when the occasion arose.)

She can understand most of the conversation thanks to her crash course in . . . English, was it? The language of Clark and this family. . .

A family of scientists, her cousin explained on the flight there, “Kal-Ex said you could’ve been in the Science Guild. Seems fitting, right?”

For the first time in a week (twenty-four years, three months, and a week), Kara’s chest clenches with the almost foreign feeling of hope.

* * *

 

Humanity is weird. They have so many factions of people that it's hard for Kara to comprehend. Where Krypton was nearly unanimous in culture and views, Earth was all sorts of varied. Where Kryptonese was supreme, English was just a small segment compared to the hundreds around this world. So many religions, cultures, norms, and taboos. It made Kara’s relatively advanced mind ache and throb.

Yet, the thing was . . . among humans, she was the weird one—an outsider, an interloper.

The Danvers try their best for the most part. Eliza and Jeremiah are patient, but not absolutely understanding; they ease her into things, steady and slow.

(“Kara, those are cars . . . they help use move around long distances, like spaceships but on the ground.”

“’What’s up’ is slang for ‘how are you’ or ‘how’s it going’, they don’t mean it _literally_.”

“What?—no, no—that’s the toaster—well, _was_ the toaster. . .”

“What do you mean you didn’t have zoos on . . . _oh_ . . .”)

Most of the time, Kara can tolerate their not-quite-so-patronizing remarks because she does need to know her new world, yet sometimes . . . sometimes she just wants to glare and yell she’s not stupid—she can understand perfectly if they give her the chance to sort it out herself. She may be uncomfortable about certain technologies here, but it’s still more curiosity than actual fear of the machines.

(The toaster doesn’t count. It just shot up into the air. How else was an actual alien supposed to react _without_ heatvision?)         

Kara guess’s that what drew her to Alex in the first place. The older girl didn’t skirt around difficult subjects and gave her enough space to interpret things for herself before asking clarifying questions. Most of the time, Alex gave her a website and a few links then left Kara to her own devices.

Alex knew that she didn’t have all the answers like Eliza and Jeremiah pretend to do occasionally, so she simply directed Kara to those who did.

It gave the Kryptonian a certain sense of freedom and autonomy—that she could figure this odd world out without handholding and coddling.

And as the two girls came closer (the beginning was mutually rough for them, both their worlds changed overnight), Kara started to see Alex as the least weird human in her life.

(Alex took it in stride.

“Well, you’re certainly the least weird alien I know.”

“I’m the _only_ alien you know.”)

* * *

 

Perhaps the most unnerving part of Earth and it inhabitants was the assortment of choices.

On Krypton, choices—if they could even be called that—were limited by a multitude of factors.

First and foremost, was genetics. The Matrix reigned supreme among them, giving them implanted roles and inclinations based on lineage and Krypton’s need. It was a streamlined system, far more efficient than what humanity had now (at least to Kara). There was so much conflict, differences, even wars on Earth that it utterly stunned her. On Krypton, civil strife and wars were nearly unheard of, save for the early years of history. But, that was easy rectified by the Matrix. It gave citizens resolve and a clear sense purpose, unlike these floundering humans.

Secondly, was family. Houses were crucial in Kryptonian culture and lifestyle. It was paramount for politics, Guilds, and marriages. Nothing was blind to families and its affairs. In fact, there was a saying that encompassed it impeccably: _Household before Blood_. The reputation of the family is largely more important than the individuals inside, as reputation is linked to legacy and power, so tarnishing a family’s reputation is near sacrilege.

(She tried telling Alex this one night when she began high school. Her sister couldn’t wrap her human mind around it, claiming it almost feudalistic and medieval with a furrowed brow and hard eyes.

To say it didn’t hurt to hear that—about her culture, nonetheless—would be one of the biggest lies Kara would ever tell.)

So, when high school started to become too easy for her alien intelligence, the Danvers suggested Kara, then sixteen, duel-enroll at the local community college to keep her occupied.

(It was originally suggested by Clark, who thanks to his struggles made his cousin’s transition on Earth a bit more bearable—including education.

He may not have been raised on Krypton, but he had the mind of an El through and through.)

For this, Kara is eternally grateful. The Gen-Ed Associate courses were the right balance of ease and challenge. It kept an all-powerful alien girl busy and equally tested her memory of Earth's many facets (even if Kara cursed Professor Haley’s Oceanography pop quizzes to Rao and back).

However, that is where the problem laid. After, her stint in duel-enrollment . . . what then? Would Kara have to take up multiple majors to keep her knowledge-hungry brain satisfied? Or would she have to blend in like Clark did, keeping a low profile from too observant humans?

* * *

 

The answer came from the Danvers, or, well, their contacts.

Alex was off at university pursuing her medical degree like her mother decades earlier. Kara just graduated high school with an associate in her name and she was horribly bored, rightfully tempted to kick off the ground and fly to some sort of adventure.

But, then Jeremiah bounded up to her room with a too wide smile on his scruffy face and too quick words that if it wasn’t for Kara’s superhearing abilities she wouldn’t have caught it.

“So, I just called a friend of mine over at MSU.”

She immediately perked up at those three letters. While Alex was following in her mother’s footsteps with biochemistry over in Berkley, Kara was shadowing her adoptive father in his engineering career by going to her dream college: Metropolis Sciences University. The man liked to tease his wife about how now the scales are now balanced.

Kara couldn’t help but mirror his enthusiasm as she bounded off her bed. Her voice was laced with pure excitement, nothing more than a squeal, “ _And_?”

If possible, his grin widened.

(Kara swore there were also wells of tears brimming. She chooses to stay silent until later. He was awfully prideful of his ‘mastery’ over his tear ducts. The three girls in life always scoff lovingly.)

“ _And_ there are internship positions open all over the Northeast thanks to Bruce Wayne’s generous donations in STEM.”

Her heart rate spiked—she can hear the synapses firing. “ _And_?”   

“And . . . Luthor Corp is hiring.”


	2. Family Doesn't Mean Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promised another chapter, shorter, but still another chapter. The other's will be longer, you have my shipper word.
> 
> Warnings: mention of emotional child abuse.

“Stop fidgeting—be the good little girl we paid for.”

Lena is six and already understands her place in the family.

Which she is not an _actual_ part of the family. Not really. No amount of paperwork and guardianship can change Lillian Luthor’s unadulterated distaste of the young girl. No matter how many times Lena painstakingly writes her full name (not her real name in the adoption papers but the name reluctantly given to her by the women beside her). No matter how many times she draws four stick figures in front of a large house and presents it to the woman.

All Lena gets is the curl of her mother’s lip and a dismissive wave, not even looking up to see the brightness drain from the girl’s face.

But, now, in front of dozens of like-pocketed people, Lillian Luthor (tightly) smiles down and places a (cold) hand on her tiny shoulder. There’s an abrupt squeeze—a warning (only one; Lena had pushed her luck merely once for the message to get across clearly).

(It’s not the girl’s fault that the dress fits weirdly along her shoulder blades, scratching against the spot just between her scapulars. But Lillian solely cares for appearances, not regarding any sense of discomfort.)

Lena rounds her spine and stands straight like that etiquette teacher ground into her brain since she boarded that jet two years ago.

The hand on her shoulder slinks off, leaving behind a frigid path.

“Good girl.”

* * *

 

And a good girl she was.

Perfect grades. Perfect posture. Perfect hair. Perfect manners. Perfect classes.

Perfect _everything_.

But all she could be was the little sister of Lex Luthor, who did everything she did six years earlier. He was the first to win the science fair. He was the first to be valedictorian of his class. First to go to prom. First to be admitted to his first-but-really-only-choice university. The first _at_ _everything_.

(She was just the Luthor who wasn’t _really_ _a Luthor_ —the charity case from a distant country with an accent that sometimes slips if she isn’t careful enough controlling her syllables just so. Lena was the girl in the shadows. Lionel was gone far too much to be a father. Lillian was her usual self, aloof and detached, only offering warm hugs and smiles to Lex, yet to Lena when other people were watching with scrutinizing eyes and, even then, all she felt was the frostiness of a woman who couldn’t care less about the girl sharing her last name.

Her darling, beloved brother, her only true friend and family at times, was much older and had to deal with upholding the legacy of Lionel’s empire.

And he tried—he really did. He was the one who read her bedtime stories, the one who was under the covers with a dying flashlight, the one who had the responsibility of a third parent of a lost and drifting girl.)

Lena was the perfect girl Lillian asked for. . .

. . . but she should’ve known Lillian would ship her off the first chance she got.

(Was it really abandonment if one was never truly there to begin with?)

* * *

 

There was this girl . . . Linda Lee, older, pretty, outstanding gray eyes that captivated young Lena to no end.

They had study hall together, in the library of that boarding school her mother sent her to. Most of the time, they would hide out in the furthest corner, tucked away from prying glances and gossip. She was sixteen to Lena’s fourteen, more developed, more sophisticated, more experienced.

Lena knew of attraction—knew of the chemicals involved with desire.

(Likely of a combination of evolutionary endurance and psychological boon; it can all be deconstructed in chemical compounds and molecular links. . .)

She knew that boys were immature at her age and didn’t really need to experience their idiotism up close by dating one.

(. . .Chemically, it’s fairly straightforward: serotonin, dopamine, norepinephrine—the first to be present in attraction. . .)

Lena can admit that she kissed a few in her early teens, trying to be the ‘laid-back Luthor’ people desperately wanted her to be. But, they had unshaved stubble and dry, neglected lips, and every time one would try to cop a feel, she felt revulsion like she never had before. Afterwards, she would always take a scolding shower, attempting to wash off their wandering hands.

(Perhaps, most predominately oxytocin—the chemical people want to chase after again and again, a high like no other—nature’s own drug. . .)

Linda is flush against her side, tilted inward, arching over their shared book they randomly plucked off the back shelves. Her skin is smooth and dark, and her almond eyes have a twinkle in them Lena can’t quite place. She’s too distracted by the heat pooling in her stomach.

(. . . the drug of recreation, sexually and medicinally—)

Linda’s fingers brush against her cheek, book long forsaken, her long digits tuck an errant hair behind Lena’s ear.

When did it get so humid in the library?

(Biochemical . . . n-neurological . . . evolu-evolutionary. . . c-could be . . . explained. . .)

The air from their lungs puffs against the other. Something is in Linda’s eyes that Lena has never seen before—it’s almost addictive—

The shelves around them fall away and the fear of the ancient librarian is forgotten—noses brush—and—

Oh.

(. . . _Oh_.)

* * *

Lex is the first one she tells.

Although he’s across the country, Lena can feel his love and support from there.

(For obvious reasons, she doesn’t tell anyone else.)

* * *

Lena just turned sixteen when Superman revealed himself.    

Powerful, striking . . . godlike.

He bares a symbol on his chest like a shield for all people. Rich and poor. Young and old.

She and Lex are utterly fascinated with the alien from a dead world.

(Perhaps, one more than the other. . .)

They both know the Earth will never be the same. How different they didn’t know at the time.

* * *

 

The first time, Lena’s world absolutely _shatters_ is when she’s twenty-one and almost done with her double masters in Biochemical Engineering and Business.

Holidays were not her favorite part of the year. Her family is strained and relatively loveless. When college peers pack feverously in unbridled excitement, she stores her things in a small suitcase, almost remorsefully, buying time until her jet is ready. But, that doesn’t keep her from her childhood home with the promise of her father’s strong hugs and Lex’s boisterous cackle. It’s only when Lillian arrives that the mood turns taunt like a tripwire—disaster at every corner.

(And after the year Lionel has had, Lena believes he might need his little girl’s gentle, reassuring smile. Not everyone can come out on top of an FBI investigation for insider trading and corporate bribing.)

The winds are on Lena’s side and she arrives two hours earlier than expected. But, she’s happy nonetheless—some quality father-daughter time is surely in order.

Only, when she gets to the manor, the space is quiet and devoid of life—

Including Lionel Luthor’s body.

The scream that tore itself from her throat was nothing she has ever heard before.

* * *

Lionel Luthor died of a stress induced heart attack on Wednesday morning.

Lionel Luthor’s funeral was on Friday afternoon—three weeks before Christmas.

(Lena and Lex never liked the Holidays anyway.)

* * *

Lex is appointed the new CEO two months after at the age of twenty-eight.

His little sister returned to her studies with a freshly-found determination.

His mother enjoyed the abrupt freedom as a widow, especially with a third of her late husband’s estate and fortune.

* * *

The second time, her world unequivocally collapses . . . she should’ve seen it coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, it's short, but here. Mainly the first two chapters are set-up for the actual plot. The next chapter will be their initial meeting and the story will progress from there. 
> 
> As for the length of the story . . . it's definitely not long or drawn out. Less than ten chapters, I think. Don't worry.
> 
> Thank for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment and a Kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> It was going to be longer, but it would be over 9,000 words, so I'm breaking this up and posting each week (given free time that is).
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment and a Kudos.


End file.
